


the price of your name

by mydearsilhouette



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Happy Ending, Kim CEO and witch hao, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, i made kim mingyu and his 2.3 billion assets a reality, minghao lives in a forest cottage by a lake, romantic and domestic fluff, romantic rehab, the settings don't have much actual meaning but are just there for gyuhao to fall in love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:29:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26039476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydearsilhouette/pseuds/mydearsilhouette
Summary: “If what you want is my money, I can tell you now that you won’t get a penny of it,” Mingyu tries to sound as threatening as he possibly can, lying in bed unable to move, “I don’t own the company. If anything happens to me, my partner will automatically take over my share.”Minghao laughs, and when he does Mingyu can hear waves of air gushing out from his trachea. “I didn’t save you because of your money, dumbass. I don’t need your money.”Not a kidnap, then. That’s an unexpected answer, but it could also be the beginning lines of a more ambitious deal. “What else could you save me for?”Minghao brushes up his bangs that have fallen in front when he laughed and looks all serious again, but the amused curve at the corners of his lips remain. “I saved you because you are the Chosen One, and my family prophecy has told me to.”Mingyu thinks his ears just malfunctioned. “I’m sorry, I’m what?”
Relationships: Kim Mingyu/Xu Ming Hao | The8
Comments: 10
Kudos: 47
Collections: The Gyuhao Exhibit 2020: Snap Shoot





	1. Mercury Retrogade

**Author's Note:**

> Just wanted to let y’all know before starting that there will be a lot of made-up stuff in this story (geography, details about witchcraft, etc.) so please take caution reading if you know you will get frustrated with scientific inaccuracies!

Kim Mingyu has always been a lucky man. A little bit unusually lucky, you may even say. 

His father has the hobby of buying one lottery ticket every day but in all 16 years of buying them, he had never won anything. The day that Mingyu’s mother learned that she was pregnant with Mingyu, he won the only grand prize of 6 million won. 

His grandmother, who was diagnosed with Stage III liver cancer, was informed that all cancer cells had inexplicably disappeared from her body on the day that Mingyu was born. It might have been a misdiagnosis all along, the doctor said awkwardly looking at the examination report.

When the school had to cancel the long-expected graduation trip according to the weather forecast, Mingyu, along with his elementary schoolmates, prayed for the forecast to be false. He even secretly promised to whoever was listening to trade three sunny days for a week of consecutive rain as long as they get to go on the trip. And it really stayed sunny, and of course, the graduation trip wasn’t canceled. But no one understood why it rained so heavily for a whole week as soon as the kids went home to the point where the city government released a flood warning. 

But Mingyu never connected the dots nor saw this strange power in other ways. He believed in what his parents said – that he was just a lucky star to the family. 

There was one time in middle school when Mingyu became extremely passionate about video games. It was a phase that almost everyone goes through; he spent all night gaming and didn’t bother studying for the science test the next day. He knew he screwed it up after taking the test but still managed to get away by earning one point above the lowest possible score to pass. He accidentally bragged about it at the dinner table, and he received one – and the only one ever – whipping from his father. 

Luck is only there for those who had worked hard to deserve it, his father said to him. Ever since then, Mingyu has always kept in mind to not rely on his luck for success. And the goddess of luck has been generous to him, perhaps as an appreciation of his humbleness. 

One year into grad school for business, Mingyu decided to drop out and founded an IT company along with a senior he had become close with in his undergrad years, Choi Seungcheol. The first generation of their mobile phone sold over five hundred thousand models, which was an impressive number for a newly established company. Their company has been growing steadily then, expanding into more industries than just mobile phones. Even in the most unrelated industries - retail business, as recommended by his mother - Mingyu owns four convenience stores. People predict that at this pace, he will soon become the youngest billionaire of the generation. 

In conclusion, Kim Mingyu has always been a lucky man. Until very recently. 

Mingyu wonders whether it’s the Mercury retrograding, or is it that he has used up all his luck in the first 24 years of his life and is now paying back the loan.

His new upstairs neighbor, moved in last week, seems like an extremely clumsy person. She keeps dropping and shattering things whenever Mingyu is home, creating non-stop noises that just won’t leave him be. He even thought about suggesting to her to see a doctor for hand tremors. 

The fourth-day that Mingyu fails to have a good night of sleep, he decides to make himself coffee so he can clear up his mind and use the chance to go into the office early and be productive. But of course, the freshly brewed coffee all gets spilled onto his white shirt. Brand new, not even worn once. 

Frustrated, he changes into a new shirt and steps outside of the apartment building, only to get steaming pigeon poop dripping down the shoulder pad of his nicely-dry-cleaned jacket, making him go back to the 27th floor to change yet again. 

By the time he climbs into the backseat of the car, it is already time for the morning rush. His driver, very unfortunately, gets diarrhea when they are stuck right in the middle of the highway. Good thing is that he voluntarily hops off the car to deal with it on his own so that Mingyu can drive himself to work in a clean car. 

When Mingyu finally drags himself into the office, Seungcheol is already sitting across from his seat, feet propped onto his wax-polished wooden desk. 

“It’s only 9:30,” Seungcheol looks down at his wristwatch, “what makes you look so exhausted already?”

Mingyu hands his bag to the secretary and settles into his seat with a long sigh. While waiting for his computer to turn on, he recounts the series of misfortune one by one with Seungcheol staring at him, dumbfounded.

“Well, you have every reason to be exhausted and to have my condolences with you,” Seungcheol takes his feet off of the desk as a show of sympathy and leans in to pat him on the shoulder. “But stay strong and get ready, buddy. We have to be at the product design presentation in 15.”

“Right, on the newest chip model?” Mingyu flips through the daily agenda that the secretary has handed him.

Seungcheol hums, makes a gesture, and gets back into his own office to get ready.

Mingyu doesn’t mind attending meetings. He likes it, in fact, approving of his capable employee’s hard work, which is truly a wonderful experience to see them turn his own dreams into reality. 

But today, when the projector buzzes and shuts down along with all of the presenting team’s laptops, he can’t help but dread getting out of the meeting room.

_Today is just not the day,_ he frets, _not the day for work, not the day for anything._

Seungcheol, playing the tough one out of the two CEOs as he has to because Mingyu is simply too soft to scold anyone, is lecturing the presenting team for the lack of professionalism. Mingyu usually lets on these types of lecturing to secure a disciplined working environment, but after the eventful morning, he has at least gotten some sense that this technical breakdown is somewhat his fault. 

So he steps in to dismiss them, rescheduling the meeting to two days later. In the now-empty meeting room, Mingyu drops into a swivel chair and covers his eyes with the report paper.

“If something is up, just take the day off and give yourself a break,” Seungcheol studies his defeated body language and suggests.

Mingyu considers the proposal. It is true that he hasn’t taken a break for a long time, preparing for designing and marketing for one product after another, and he hasn’t visited his parents back in Anyang for at least three months. 

“I’ll take two days to go back home. And I’ll trade two days of my annual vacation in later,” he says as he gets up from his seat.

Seungcheol gives him a funny look as if he just said something like _look there are potatoes flying in the sky_. “Why are you telling me that? You are literally the owner of the company, you can do whatever you want.”

Mingyu actually thinks about it for a minute, and shrugs when he can’t find a proper answer. “I don’t know. I needed to ask for somebody’s approval, I guess.”

Seungcheol just laughs.

Mingyu has almost fallen asleep when he gets thrown from one end to another in the backseat in the middle of Highway 10. The driver had made an emergency swing in direction to avoid a truck that suddenly jerked out from the opposite lane and almost bumped into them from the left side. They ducks the direct hit, and the truck quietly merges into their lane, following right after them. 

That was definitely not an accident, Mingyu quickly concludes as drowsiness evaporates from every cell of his body. Looking back at the truck, Mingyu can’t quite make out the driver’s face. He memorizes the license plate as he dials a number into his phone, but before the other end picks up he hears his driver curse.

“What the hell is up now?!”

“The transmission system is failing – I can’t slow down!” the driver panics as he pulls the shifting gear in futile, “Daepyo-nim, please buckle up and protect your head with something soft as a buffer – we have to prepare for the worst!”

Just as Mingyu grabs the closest cushion by his hand, the truck behind speeds up to hit the tail of the car. The driver spins the steering wheel and the car turns in a near straight angle, shooting towards the guardrails and breaks right through.

Mingyu hears his heartbeats drumming faster and faster in his veins as they descend, but they don’t stay in the air long – soon enough, almost every side of the car smashes into rocks one after another as they roll down the slope into a depopulated forest, and almost every part of Mingyu’s body gets thrown at full strength against the cold, metal shell of the car. 

When they finally stop rolling with the four wheels of the car spinning and roaring in the air at maximum speed, the only thing Mingyu can hear is the deafening ringing in his skull. Warm, sticky blood oozes its way down Mingyu’s forehead onto his lashes, and he squints hard not letting it get into his eyes. 

Before he can straighten out what just happened, he senses boiling heat coming from above where the engine is located. His sore muscles tense up and he quickly unbuckles, squeezing into the front seat to wake the driver only to find him unconscious as the head of the car was too damaged from the fall. 

Mingyu curses and climbs back, intends to retrieve his phone but immediately gives up on the idea since the rising heat threatens that he doesn’t have much time left. He scrambles through the deformed door in choking smoke and rolls out as he falls to the ground. He tries to get up and run with his legs but capitulates at his dizziness and collapses back to the ground. Gritting his teeth, he scoots with the two arms, despite the stinging pain from his left forearm, to hide behind the closest tree. Struggling to suck in air as he lays on his side on the wet grass, Mingyu hears a thunderous explosion break out behind him. Heatwaves sweep across like tides, withering grass and scorching parts of his skin that are not covered by the trunk.

Mingyu swallows hard as the explosion dies down with the last few minor combustions. Blood has trickled into his eyes and his vision has become blurry. The forest is slowly turning into a weak white light with gray snowflakes falling here and there. And sleepiness, previously gone but apparently only temporarily, comes back at him. 

He knows he can’t sleep. He hasn’t even had his whole 24 glorious years of life flash in front of his eyes yet. But the blood is sticking his heavy lids together and he’s so tired – maybe someone will wake him up in a bit, he just wants to nap for a short while…

“What is your last name?”

Amidst the void of Mingyu’s unconsciousness, a soft and child-like, yet equivalently cold voice asks. Mingyu’s brows furrow as his mind pushes through clarity, and though he struggles, he manages to crack open his eyes. He blinks, but it doesn’t help him see much better. 

“Answer me, human,” repeats the hooded figure, “what is your last name?”

“... Kim?” Mind muddled, Mingyu lets the vocal cords vibrate on its own responsively, giving out one syllable.

The figure sighs and a strand of silver hair falls out from his draping hood, reflecting the sunlight leaking through the gaps between tree leaves. It’s dazing, and Mingyu wants to close his eyes again. 

“Then you are the one I’m looking for,” he hears the man say before falling back into the crate of darkness and silence.

↣ ✾ ↢

It is a small cottage that Minghao lives in. Inhabits in, to be more accurate, as he doesn’t really commit to human rituals that fulfill survival needs such as eating or sleeping. It is merely a base of his activities, a place of retreat when needed. He has built the cottage himself decades ago himself (not with his hands, of course), and has slowly gathered human objects, though unnecessary, to fill up the space. From his very limited exposure to humans, he has observed and adored the way humans turn objects of functionality into elements of design. So he does, too.

And from the looks of it, he is pretty good at it. 

The one-room cottage feels packed with all of the furniture. Two canvas armchairs of Morandi gray and blue are placed on a small and seemingly-hand-braided rug, facing the furnace. A glass box full of wine corks sits between two scented candles on the mantle, a painting with a pistachio tone hanging above. To the left is a stairway leading up to the second floor, which is also the attic, ceiling slanted. The wall to the right is practically a giant built-in bookshelf, stuffed with books – pages of some yellowed and some brand-new – and other things: cards, jars and chests containing who knows what, and a crystal ball on a purple cushion. 

The kitchen side of the cottage, on the other hand, feels a lot more human-like. It sits close by the water; when Minghao does dishes – if he ever does – the window above the sink, small pots of succulents sitting on the windowsill, puts the lake view on full display. Rows of brass measuring spoons and cups hang in size order on the wall to the right of the sink, dully reflecting the warm glow of the pendant lamp. Dried branches braided into delicate balls to hold gemstones dangle down from the cupboard handles. 

Mingyu wakes up in bed, angled straight across from the furnace, and cries out as he makes an attempt to sit up. Though his wounds have been properly wrapped in gauze, every part of his body feels like it’s been teared up and stuck back together, but very poorly, pieces of bones and chunks of muscles misplaced. The only thing he can carefully move without eliciting the killing pain is his head and neck, yet a headache strikes him as soon as he opens his eyes. 

The noises catch Minghao’s attention, so he rises from an armchair. “You are awake.”

Through the purple tulle draping down from the ceiling – it must be a bed canopy, Mingyu assumes – Mingyu squints and tries to see him clearly. Slender and his movements swift, Minghao turns and makes his way to the bedside, with the ruffles of his musketeer shirt bouncing at the pace of his steps. “How are you feeling?”

Outlines of his face sharp and cheeks slightly dented, Minghao looks down at Mingyu with his tapered eyes but doesn’t sit down on the bed. Absorbing the sight of Minghao’s features, not shadowed by the hood this time, the first thought that flashes through Mingyu’s head is that he’s kidnapped. Kidnapped by this breathtakingly gorgeous man, though he doesn’t know what for. But he doesn’t question this possibility too much – kidnapping is quite common among rich people like him.

“W..who are you?” Mingyu’s voice sounds awfully rusty and coarse. He is startled by the strangeness of his own voice. 

If Minghao is not prepared for the question, he doesn’t show. He blinks and snatches an answer from plain air: “You can call me 8.”

_8, what a perfect codename for a member of a secret assassination organization._

“If what you want is my money, I can tell you now that you won’t get a penny of it,” Mingyu tries to sound as threatening as he possibly can, lying in bed unable to move, “I don’t own the company. If anything happens to me, my partner will automatically take over my share.”

Minghao laughs, and when he does, Mingyu can hear waves of air gushing out from his trachea. “I didn’t save you because of your money, dumbass. I don’t need your money.”

_Not a kidnap, then._ That’s an unexpected answer, but it could also be the beginning lines of a more ambitious deal. “What else could you save me for?”

Minghao brushes up his bangs that have fallen in front when he laughed and looks all serious again, but the amused curve at the corners of his lips remain. “I saved you because you are the Chosen One, and my family prophecy has told me to.”

Mingyu thinks his ears just malfunctioned. “I’m sorry, I’m what?”

“You are God’s _Chosen One_ ,” Minghao repeats, stressing the words this time. “Don’t tell me you don’t know.”

“Well, that’s the first time I’ve ever heard anyone call me that,” Mingyu would have shrugged if he could, but he only does it imaginatively for now. “What does it mean? You know, to be the Chosen One?”

Minghao looks at him, finding what he said funny. “It practically means that you are God’s favorite. Like, in everything you do. You get anything you want.”

Mingyu’s jaw drops open. “You gotta be kidding me. How come nobody has ever told me this for 24 years?”

“Humans don’t necessarily have the knowledge of what they are capable of. Haven’t you noticed how lucky you have always been? All your life? I mean, billionaires are supposed to be at least twice, if not thrice your age.”

“Well, technically I’m not a billionaire, _yet_ ,” Mingyu mumbles as he processes the information and misses the oddity when Minghao says “humans,” “but now that I actually think about it...” Not counting his recent misfortunes, he has for sure been a lucky man.

“Exactly.” 

Mingyu could’ve lingered in the shock that he’s literally _God’s favorite_ for a little longer, but there are too many questions and mysteries right now that he doesn’t have time to. “And you said your, uh, family prophecy, told you to save me?”

Minghao nods. “I’m a witch, and everyone in my family is also witches. We all specialize in different areas so of course, some of us in the family are wonderful fortune tellers.”

“You are a _what_ ?” _Ear malfunction warning._ Mingyu thinks he might need an appointment with an otologist after this.

“If you keep asking questions like this I’m going to assume that you not only broke your bones but also broke your brain,” Minghao sighs and inwardly prepares himself for a long Q&A session.

“A _witch_? For real?”

“For real.” 

“Witches actually exist?” 

“Yes, we do exist.” Scientific knowledge that Mingyu has learned from elementary school to college? It just all plunged into hell.

“Can you use magic?” Mingyu feels stupid asking the question, but he can’t hold back the curiosity. _I mean, the man’s a witch. How do you_ **_not_ ** _ask a witch to show you magic?_

“Yes,” Minghao continues to indulge Mingyu with his patience. He spins his wrist, opening up his palm to the ceiling. As he closes his eyes and exhales a thin, green smoke, a verdant grapevine germinates at the center of his palm and climbs up along his forearm, intertwined. Minghao looks at Mingyu, who is stunned and speechless, and smiles. “Do you believe me now?”

Mingyu attempts to nod, but with motion terminated by the pain at the cervicals he ends up only making a “hmm” sound. His eyes suddenly light up at a genius idea. “Does that mean you can heal me with your magic?”

Minghao looks sorry and shakes his head. The vines slowly recede back into his palm as he drops his arms. “That – sorry I can’t. Witches are not supposed to be nice to humans.”

“Why?”

“Well, historically, humans haven’t been very nice to us. They have always wanted to either torture us or kill us – you know, all the drowning and burning stuff,” Minghao addresses it casually like it was just an anecdote in a history textbook. To be fair, it had been many, many centuries since his family has had any direct conflicts with humans so you can’t blame him. “So our ancestors made harsh rules for us to never use our magic to help humans. If we do, we can die.”

“Then how are you going to save me?” Now he is confused. _No cure with magic? Pain no gone in seconds?_ Mingoo hurts, Mingoo sad.

“Like you humans do, with medicine,” Minghao answers blankly as it were common-sense. 

“But it hurts so much...” Mingyu pouts. Knowing there is a cure but can’t access it is even worse than not having a cure at all.

“It does take longer for you to heal on your own, but my family prophecy doesn’t say anything about sacrificing my life to use curing magic on you, so, sorry,” Minghao throws his hands. 

Though disappointed, Mingyu understands. He wouldn’t ask anyone to trade their life with his anyways, plus he isn’t even in dying conditions. But the idea that someone had foreseen him being in an accident years ago is intriguing. “What _does_ your family prophecy say?”

As if waiting for him to ask the question, Minghao sweeps aside the tulle and tucks it in the brass hook on the wall. He takes out a folded piece of brittle paper and lifts it at a level easy for Mingyu to read. 

_By the 10th mark of the 10th road,_

_Where the son of gold in red, blown;_

_Take him to your house of green,_

_When he wakes unveils myths unseen._

Mingyu carefully interprets. _Son of gold_ , that’s why Minghao asked for his last name. “What are the ‘myths unseen’ ?”

“I am not sure yet,” Minghao takes back the prophecy and crosses the room to stick it back in a chest full of similar papers. “But from the fact that you, the Chosen One, Mr. God’s favorite, have gotten into a fatal car accident, I know something is definitely wrong. Very wrong.”

“I thought it was Mercury retrograde or something like that,” Mingyu recalls memories before the accident, “even before the accident, I have been pretty unlucky lately.”

“Which is not normal,” Minghao points out, “it could be someone trying to switch your destiny with theirs. They must have found out about your power that even yourself didn’t know you had.”

“It’s possible?”

“Not impossible,” Minghao pulls out a book from the shelf and flips to a page to skim. “...Right. I did remember it correctly – it is possible to switch destinies knowing both parties’ birth charts, and the person intended to switch has to do it themselves with the proper rituals at the right timing. If this person is not a supernatural being – which I assume they aren’t, because if they are I’d know – there’s a large chance that they’ve done it poorly. Destiny switch is no easy magic for humans to practice.”

“Does that mean it won’t be in full effect?” Mingyu tries to follow Minghao’s logic – it’s quite incredible how quick he comes to buy in all of what Minghao’s saying; they could sound like nonsense to him hours ago.

“Yes,” Minghao reads on as he answers, “not only that, but it also means that the switch could be undone.”

Mingyu is prompted to ask him to undo the switch right now, then suddenly remembers that the prophecy gives no instructions on what to do with the “myths unseen,” and he isn’t sure if it’s rude to ask. But Minghao guesses his thoughts anyways – it’s only logical to want your luck back.

“You don’t have to worry about it for now. All of human’s poorly attempted spells automatically become invalid at habitats of supernatural beings – after all, we are the _real_ dominants of magic,” he says somewhat pridefully, “and the switch theory is merely my guess, so I will need more time to look into it to see if there’s anything I can do.”

“Thank you.” Mingyu finally relaxes. There’s no way he learns that he is the man of best luck _today_ and is losing that luck today, too. He intends to say something else, but a growl of his stomach steals the chance and comes out before words do. Mingyu visibly blushes, and Minghao holds a fist in front of his mouth to suppress a giggle. 

“You must be hungry. Sorry, I almost forgot that humans need to eat,” a little apologetically, he bends to let down the tulle. “You’ve been talking for a long time. Take the time to rest while I make some food for you.”

“You can’t just make food appear? Like, with magic?” Seeing Minghao’s urge to roll eyes at him, Mingyu immediately regrets asking the question. _If a witch is offering to make you food, just take it and don’t ask questions,_ he inwardly jots down a note for later reference.

“No beneficial magic for humans, remember?” Minghao flings the black robe onto his shoulders. It is the same one that he wore when Mingyu first saw him. This time Mingyu can see it more in detail; it is heavy with a velvet texture, and upon the dark purple fabric it has a silver vine embroidery along the margins. It echoes Minghao’s hair color, and Mingyu wonders if that’s intentional.

“Oh, right,” he responds awkwardly. 

Minghao gives him a slight nod. The door squeals, and he’s gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The updates for this fic might come a little spaced out and quite irregularly... I have a lot of things going on in life right now so I won't have a lot of time to write:((((  
> But don't worry! I already have the whole story outlined, and I love the CEO x witch combo so badly that there's no chance not to get it out of my head for me to share it with y'all!!!!
> 
> Feel free to find me on twt@machereombre or cc@mydearsilhouette while I grind out the next chapter! I always love to talk&share fic ideas about gyuhao^^


	2. Forest Seclusion

Mingyu almost has a nervous breakdown when he oversleeps out of accumulated fatigue, misses the dinner that Minghao has made for him, and wakes up mid-day the next day. But Minghao reassures him that time passes a little differently in the cottage: every 5 days here equals about 1 hour in the human world, which gives Mingyu about 2 months to heal and return to his world before the police get involved to claim him missing or dead. 

With that, he resolves to set his pride aside for now, stay under the roof of the witch until he can walk again. Although Mingyu is still unsure of what to think of the elf-looking witch, and he probably should be cautious if not intimidated by him, his instincts nudge him to feel at ease at the witch’s presence. After all, Minghao did save his life, offered to nanny him, and lent him a place to stay. The witch’s niceness of it all often makes Mingyu forget that his kind actions could all be potentially insincere, but merely a response to the family prophecy.

Plus, the more time Mingyu spent observing his caretaker, the less intimidating he finds Minghao to be than he looks. Whereas he holds the image that witches are all hidden in damp, dark basements boiling rat tails or human eyeballs or whatever, Minghao doesn’t seem to do any of that. His cottage is always warm and cozy, not to mention it’s beautifully decorated. And he barely uses his cauldrons at all; most of the time he’s busied with animals. 

When Mingyu recovers enough to be able to sit up in bed, he sees Minghao open the front door of the cottage every morning, kneeling down to the burrow of bunnies waiting for him, sometimes squirrels or birds, to conjure up off-season treats with his magic while talking to them with a quiet voice only the little animals could hear, with a little smile on his face. Even though he dares not make an open comment on it, he finds it endearing. 

He couldn’t contain his curiosity, however, about two weeks in his stay. He puts down the book in hand (which he was only holding as a camouflage for his observation of the witch anyways) and asks Minghao, who is wrapping the wounded hind leg of a bunny in his palms: “Are they your… um… ”

“–Familiar?” The witch, now pulling his hands away from the blood-stained fur, looks oddly amused to hear it. “No, not really.”

Mingyu watches the wound closes up slowly under the faint mint glow with amazement.

“They just really like me, and I enjoy taking care of them, too, that’s all,” Minghao says with glee to his voice. 

“Is it also part of your powers? Affinity to animals?” 

Minghao opens the door to lower the bunny onto the grass. The little snowball hops up and down a few times as if checking her legs, circles around Minghao’s foot, then disappears into the rose bushes. “I guess you can put it that way.

“When I first came around here a long time ago, the chemical plant here almost trashed the environment. The lake you see now was a sewage pond, and the contaminated water killed everything. Nothing was growing.” The memory must have brought back unpleasantness, for the witch wears a frown as he tells the story. “So I might or might not have used some tricks to drive the people out so I can restore the fertility of the land. And I guess the animals are thankful for me for that.”

“Some... tricks?” 

“Nothing you would need to worry about,” Minghao’s expression has relaxed a little, looking out to the lake view just outside of the window. “I just made them think the place is haunted and that they are being charged for their destruction of nature. They were way weaker than I thought–it was, like, three days at max? They all ran away. So I had the place all to myself.”

Mingyu shudders. He doesn’t think he wants to know the details. _This is why you shouldn’t piss witches off, though they seem real nice._

But simultaneously, learning the backstory makes watching Minghao pet the little creatures affectionately even more endearing, which gives Mingyu the courage to ask if he can pet them too the next time the bunnies visit. The witch, pleasantly surprised, smiles, holds his two hands together like a cushioned seat–to which one little ball of lilac chinchilla curls herself–and walks over to the bedside. 

Their fingers touch when Minghao lowers his hands to help the bunny land. His fingertips are ice-cold despite it’s only early autumn, but the tenderness underneath seeps through the pale skin and plucks a string inside the still fainthearted human. When he looks up to the witch for reassurance, the latter looks right back in his eyes, fondness urging the human on. Mingyu hears the pounding in his heart get louder and louder, which he hastily attributes to the nervousness of holding onto such a delicate creature. 

↣ ✾ ↢

Mingyu wakes up to a wooden wheelchair standing by his bed some ten days later when he can finally get out of bed with Minghao’s help. 

“You should get out of the cottage sometimes,” the witch says, helping him onto the wheelchair. “To get under the sun.”

Though he is more comfortable with the witch now, Mingyu still gets a little flustered leaning his weight onto those seemingly frail shoulders. But he still willingly obliges; he does miss the feeling of being outside.

Minghao doesn’t take them too far. He stops pushing the wheelchair under a sunny spot and leaves Mingyu to sketch on his own (now that he has taken off the sling, the choices of entertainment have opened a little more) while burying himself into the pile of books that he has brought along. After all, they still need to figure out the cause of Mingyu’s misfortunes.

The reading doesn’t go well for too long, though, because being the chatterbox he is, Mingyu fails to hold his chitty chats in after three hours. But he doesn’t criticize himself too much for it; it is already a personal record. 

“8,” he calls out, and the witch lifts his head up from the book. The silver locks of his shine under the bright, warm afternoon sun. Mingyu asks the question on impulse. “Do witches all have silver hair?”

“Yes. But it’s not really a natural genetic thing–witch babies who don’t have silver hair are bound to be tossed into the river as soon as they are born,” Minghao deadpans. Looking at the human’s petrified expression, he bursts into laughter. “No, of course not. I dyed mine silver.”

Mingyu sighs in relief. “I didn’t know witches dye their hair.”

Minghao giggles, heartily. “There are many things you still don’t know about witches.”

“Would you care to educate me?”

“Hmm…” Minghao closes the spellbook in hand. There is no way he can continue reading with Mingyu staring at him with those pleading, curious eyes. “Where should I even start? Um… Witches all have different media to carry their magic. For example, a common one would be a wand, or a cane, like you see in the movies.”

“But I haven’t seen you use one before.”

“Well, I have one. I just prefer not to use it,” his index finger brushes lightly against his nose bridge. “I don’t always want to design my outfit to have a ‘compartment’ to hold the wand. Utility ruins the aesthetics sometimes.”

“You design your own outfits?” Mingyu’s jaw drops open. 

“It is not the most accurate term, I guess. But before you got here, I didn't even have a closet in the cottage. I make tweaks here and there with magic–changing colors and textures depending on what I feel, and on some days I prefer a defined waistline, other days a flaring collar design, things like that. Magic is really convenient sometimes. On instances like this, I don’t have to keep a whole closet of clothes as you guys do.”

Mingyu doesn’t know which part of this new fact makes him more stunned: the witch knows how to design clothes, or HE DESIGNED ALL THOSE OUTFITS (which, the same one never appeared twice, by the way) THAT HE LOOKED ABSOLUTELY GORGEOUS IN!

While he is still organizing his thoughts, Minghao continues. “What else is there to know? Oh, here’s one: witches don’t really need sleep. ”

“But you do.” Recalling the multiple times that he has found Minghao passed out by the furnace, head drooping low almost onto his own shoulder, Mingyu couldn’t stop the smile from growing on his face. “I trust my own eyes.”

Minghao clears his throat in his defense. “It is a special case. When we use too much magic at once, even though technically we don’t have to eat or sleep, our systems still require these activities to recharge. And I always overuse mine to keep the forest alive, so I have to sleep sometimes.”

Mingyu looks around him. The sapphire-colored lake water ripples under the soft autumn breezes. The branches of pines and birches rustle, like glees of the forest’s children that they are. It is hard to imagine that without Minghao’s magic, the next instant this beautiful picture of blue and green will fall into colorless dust. He remembers what Minghao has said about the chemical plant. “Has it not recovered from the damage yet?”

To which Minghao shakes his head. “It’s only been about 50 years since then. It took them 10 years to completely trash the land, and it will probably take me 10 times that to rebuild it.”

Mingyu bites down his lips. He didn’t expect the topic to turn so heavy so sudden. “I’m sorry that you are the one taking the consequences for their actions. Nature is unfair like that sometimes.”

One hand reaching up to the coarse bark of the closest tree, Minghao smiles. “It’s alright. I enjoy doing it, and there’s nothing better to do anyway. I have a whole lifetime to find a purpose, and if that’s being the guardian of the forest, it doesn’t sound too shabby to me.”

Care and affection, warm and thick like blood, pour out from the witch’s eyes when he looks at the breathing forest, the same way a mother looks at her child. And that does the trick for Mingyu to surrender to the thought that has been tingling in the back of his head. The absurdity of that thought, well, only comes afterward, after it’s a little too late for him to realize what he has committed himself to. 

“When you say a lifetime,” Mingyu starts again, gingerly, afraid to disturb the moment of privacy between the witch and nature. “How long exactly is that?”

“I’m somewhere around 130, I’ve lost count,” the witch turns back to him to answer the question. “But in general, life expectancy for witches is around 200, or 300 years? Maybe longer than that, I’m not sure. We don’t usually die of old age, there are so many lurking dangers that can kill us before we naturally die. But 300 years is a long time, so if I have to die before that I won’t complain.”

Mingyu feels sorry, all of sudden, even though as a feeble human, he is probably in no place to feel so for powerful and theoretically immortal witches. He has learned from the few books that he actually read since coming here that witches are not social beings; it is their unspoken rule to live by themselves. They may fall in love and have children, but it is a tradition for them to split up after the child has grown and becomes capable of independence. 

_Attachment,_ as said in the book, is a dangerous thing for witches. Minghao is right, there are too many lurking threats–witch hunters, ancient curses or disciplines that are deadly if violated, “family” enemies–living as a group, with each member added, increases the risk of triggering these dangers. 

_300 years of loneliness,_ Mingyu tries to imagine as he looks at Minghao, who has dived back into reading with a peaceful expression. _If this is what 130 years have come to create, what can the 170 left make out of this man?_

His imagination isn’t quite capable of giving him an answer, but he is known for his tenaciousness. He wants to know, and perhaps, if possible, to witness. 

↣ ✾ ↢

By the time Mingyu finally gets off the wheelchair to walk with crutches, Minghao decides to expand their radius of action a little bit further than the area around the area. 

They maneuver through the lights and shadows of trees and bushes, settling down for the day when they reach a verdant meadow. Flowers and plants of different colors, shapes, and heights, still wearing the morning dew, glisten under the sunlight leaking through the leaves above. 

“I have to find a few ingredients to make some potions,” Minghao tells Mingyu, helping him sit down by a bulky trunk. “Luna is giving birth soon, and she had a hard time last time she did. I wanted to see if I can make something to help her through.” (Luna is a bunny, of course.)

Mingyu nods, waving the sketchbook in his hand. “Go ahead. I will entertain myself.”

But he doesn’t really entertain himself with drawing. He tries, but as the witch wanders off, bends over to ask the spirit of the herbs for permission to pick leaves and petals, it becomes hard to focus on the conté between his fingers. 

The wind sweeps across the meadow, the lively greens, yellows, whites, and pinks fall back gracefully in unison. As mesmerizing as a sight can be, the white, loose-fitting chiffon shirt of the witch billows, tassels at the collar flailing against his face. The fluffy seeds of dandelions embark on their adventures with the generous help of the wind, bringing out a soft giggle when they brush against Minghao’s porcelain cheeks. 

Mingyu once read a story where the heroine was stuck in a picture that she took and was unable to get out from it until she found a way to break the spell. He’d think, since then, if he has to be stuck in one picture for the rest of his life, what would that picture be. Resting his jaw in his left palm and his brain being replaced with strawberry flavored marshmallow, Mingyu thinks he has found a preferred ending to his fantasy.

So when Minghao returns, he plucks a dainty Samaritan Jo (apologizing to the spirit while he does–he feels like his actions have deviated more and more from normal human logic living with Minghao for that long), the pointed petals of which remind him of Minghao’s elf-like ears, and tucks it behind the right ear of the witch as he lowers himself to help Mingyu stand up.

Minghao pauses, and he blinks in confusion.

_Adorable._ Mingyu bites his bottom lip, trying not to let the corners of his lips raise obviously high. _God, how is he so adorable?_

Minghao reaches for the flower and observes it with his round, watery eyes. The back of Mingyu’s throat dries up, all of a sudden. 

“You got me a flower,” the witch smiles at him.

Mingyu swallows, pressing down the poking urge. “I asked the spirit for permission. It reminds me of you.”

The smile grows wider. Mingyu prepares to be completely embarrassed if he has to confess about the ear thing, that would totally sound too intimate and flirty. But luckily the witch doesn’t ask.

Instead of questioning or saying thank you, Minghao touches Mingyu’s left cheek with his icy fingers, and wipes with the pad of his thumb ever so tenderly. “You should pay more attention to drawing next time. This face is already a piece itself, not your sketchbook.”

Mingyu flushes. Of course, he got conté on his face zoning out, watching Minghao. He must have looked so dumb all while he thought he was smoothly stealing the witch’s heart with that flower. He is so busy scolding himself that he even misses out on the important part of the sentence.

“This is beautiful, though,” Minghao says, eyes again fixated on the Samaritan Jo. “If you haven’t picked it up, I probably wouldn’t even notice it.”

When he looks up from the flower, their gazes lock unexpectedly. Warmth, fuzzy and jingling, erupts in the collision, and both of them get instantly flustered and turn their heads away almost in sync. 

“Uh…Um,” Mingyu sniffles, a hand rubbing the back of his neck. “We… we should get going.”

Minghao, just equally awkward, turns his face to his side where there really is nothing to look at. “Yea… yeah.”

The sound of wings flapping and chirping slowly rise on their quiet trip home. The setting sun paints the meadow with a faint wash of coral. Sunlight gleaming on his back, Mingyu figures if love has a smell, it should smell like freshly baked toast.

↣ ✾ ↢

Two months, without Mingyu and Minghao knowing, slip past. Perhaps it is Mingyu’s constitution as the Chosen One at work, the day Minghao helps him take off the fracture splints from his leg is exactly the 60th day of Mingyu’s stay at the cottage. 

As the cast breaks off, Mingyu shudders as air tickles his skin, which has become a slightly different shade from the rest of his body. Minghao ties a braided anklet, around his anklet. The soft cotton threads, intertwining yellow and green, burn against Mingyu’s skin, lighting a mint flame. Mingyu gasps at the pain. 

“Don’t worry, the burn will be okay in a few days.” 

“What does this do?”

“I’ve been studying the rule set by the ancestors about never helping humans, and I figured this fits in the loophole. The rule never said ‘you can’t use your magic on humans,’ it just says ‘you can’t help them with your magic,’” Minghao lifts his left pant a little, revealing a matching one on his ankle. “So a neutral charm like this doesn’t really count as a violation of that rule. It doesn’t protect you, but the two will link us together. If you are in trouble when you leave here, I will know from mine. It only serves as a messaging purpose, per se.”

Mingyu looks down at his anklet. The burn doesn’t hurt that much anymore, a wine-red scar now lies underneath the bright-colored threads. He isn’t sure if he wants to hear the answer to his next question, but he will regret it if he doesn’t ask. 

“Does your family prophecy tell you to do that, too?”

As if he has choked on something, Minghao coughs. He touches the side of his face in what seems to be embarrassment, turns sideways, and when he realizes that there is no way to avoid the question, he answers with the quietest voice: “... No, actually.”

The soft denial puts the last weight onto the balance in Mingyu’s head, and tips it over completely. 

Lightheaded, Mingyu reaches out to tap on the back of Minghao’s hand. “Hey. Can you conjure up a record player or something?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I want to dance all of a sudden. Would you join me?”

So, per Mingyu’s request, Minghao turns up his favorite song on the record player that didn't exist just a minute ago for them to dance to in celebration of Mingyu’s recovery.

The girl sings, languidly, and both of them begin by using the movements of their bodies to match the beats. Nothing too fancy, just relaxed, natural flow of limbs and torsos with their eyes closed. Restrained giggles escape when they peek at each other’s rather dumb moves because they are just feeling themselves, simple bliss effusing in the air. 

_I am not crying_

_I am not screaming_

_I am not trying_

_To hold myself in the bathroom_

_Saying everything's gonna be fine_

_I'm not lying_

_Still believe in love–_

Precisely on the line, they bump into each other. A little awkwardly, but they join in the middle. Minghao twirls and spins as Mingyu guides him to, when he falls into Mingyu’s embrace on the downbeat, both of their breaths hitch and become tentative. 

They stop dancing. Mingyu stands, holding the witch, so small and soft compared to his own physique, in his arms. The girl in the record player, oblivious to the sudden shift in the mood, continues to sing.

They don’t talk for a moment, just looking at each other in the eyes. No thoughts are going through either of their heads, or, too many thoughts are going through so rapidly that they fail to grasp onto any. 

Mingyu gives up on thinking first. He wraps his left hand over Minghao’s right, his other hand tightening the witch’s grip on his waist. He squeezes them lightly and kisses him. 

Mingyu doesn’t know what to expect when he kisses the witch, and it turns out to be nothing that he expects. It is not aggressive, not lustful. It’s sweet, and short. They break away soon, maybe a little too soon because of both of their nervousness, and the shortness of the kiss, evocative, amplifies the sweetness, making them want to kiss again. So they do. And they do again. And again, and again.

“Do I have to leave?” With their foreheads still touching, Mingyu asks.

Minghao bites on his own swollen lips, readjusting his breath. “Yes, yes you do. You have a life outside of this cottage, this forest. Don’t you have an entire company to take care of?” 

Mingyu pleads in what’s almost a whisper. “Seungcheol can take care of that. I don’t want other things–money, status, I can give them all up for this. This simple life. I want to stay here and live it forever with you.”

“Don’t be silly,” Minghao laughs, without any actual joy in his voice. “You are getting ahead of yourself. No matter how slow time outside is passing, it is still passing. The longer you stay here, the sooner they are going to be heartbroken thinking you are dead. You don’t want to make them think that way, do you?”

Mingyu sighs. His hands drop down to his sides in frustration. “I really don’t.”

“Exactly.”

“But I don’t want to leave. You’ve said before that I won’t be able to come back and visit, can I? How will I know this is not a dream after I’ve gone back to my world?”

“I can make you forget.” The witch simply states, as a fact. The emotions behind the sentence are shapeless.

“I don’t want to.” Mingyu interrupts. “I don’t want to forget any of this. And if you feel the same way as I do for you, making you remember this all by yourself is just too cruel.”

Sadness, glazed with a translucent cobalt blue, wages in Minghao’s eyes, and it speaks wordlessly to Mingyu when he looks into them. The song has ended a while ago. The record spins and spins, nothing but grainy white noise plays.

Minghao lowers his head to avert his gaze. Mingyu pulls on his sleeve slightly, but Minghao doesn’t react.

“Hey.”

“8.”

“Yeong-pali.”

He nudges him again with the affectionate nickname, and Minghao finally looks up. When he does, the cobalt has burned away. Burned away by fondness, passion, and determination. The record player clicks again, a new song comes on.

Pushing his weight onto his toes, the witch whispers into the human’s ear.

“Then remember me.”

_You won't stay with me, I know_

_But you can have your way with me 'til you go_

_And if all your kisses turn into bruises, I'm a warnin'_

_Let's fall in love for the night_

_And forget in the mornin'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that the update came so late!! I’m really trying to squeeze in time to write, and the planning for this fic was a little messy so I hit a wall and had to sort it out first. But 本 really inspired me to write because xu minghao *IS* the physical representation of a forest spirit!!!!!!!!
> 
> The two songs in this chapter are Not With You by Sarah, the song that gyuhao actually danced to in TTT 2018 (thanks miss ell!), and Let’s Fall in Love for the Night by FINNEAS. Gyuhao's romantic duet on the cruise hit me so hard that I had to write the slow dance scene!!!!!! They are so in love when they dance!!!!!!!! *screams*
> 
> I’m hoping to get the third (and hopefully last) chapter of this story in around January if I can’t in December. Please let me know what you think and feel free to find me on twt@machereombre or cc@mydearsilhouette while I make you wait! Comments and kudos are appreciated <3333


End file.
